


You Are Dripping On Sofa

by Mellow_Yellow



Series: Adventures in Babysitting [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich, M/M, Soup, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2096400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellow_Yellow/pseuds/Mellow_Yellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian spends some time with Yevgeny, Svetlana and some delicious Russian soup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Dripping On Sofa

When Ian woke up, he was alone in bed. It was late evening, his afternoon nap having evidently morphed into a three-hour marathon and he woke up now disoriented and cranky. 

Ian rolled out of bed, going into the bathroom to grab his six o’clock meds and throwing them back. He figured Mickey was making dinner, which meant making pancakes, because that was all he could cook, full stop. When he went to the kitchen to get some milk in an attempt to coat his stomach so the pills wouldn’t make him nauseous, he didn’t see Mickey.

“That is disgusting habit." The sharp, accented voice behind him made him jump.

He nearly dropped the milk carton he’d been drinking from directly, which he had to admit Fiona and Debbie had always vocally loathed. He set it back in the fridge, shutting the door with a defiant shove and turning to face Svetlana.

She was holding Yevgeny in the doorway to the kitchen, who was squirming in her arms and reaching for Ian. Ian approached the baby, ignoring his mother to tickle his feet and laugh at his wide eyes.

He caught Svetlana's gaze and sobered, straightening. “I thought Mickey was here,” he said, unsure why he was explaining himself to her. 

She shook her head in the negative. “Left for bar half hour ago. Said to tell you he will be back late.” She narrowed her eyes. “I am not messenger, Orange Boy.”

He wanted to retort something clever, but he was hit by a whoosh of dizziness. Goddamn pills always took a few minutes to hit when he took them on an empty stomach. He held a hand out to the doorframe to steady himself, then staggered to the living room to collapse on the couch. Svetlana watched him go impassively before coming to stand in front of him.

“You eat?” Svetlana asked. Ian didn’t know if she meant was he hungry, or if he’d eaten already, or if he enjoyed food in general, so he shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Svetlana let out a loud huff and muttered something in Russian. She dropped Yev unceremoniously into his lap and went back to the kitchen, and soon Ian heard her banging pots and pans. While he waited, he bounced Yev up and down on his lap. The baby made a gurgling sound, chewing on his fist and getting baby saliva everywhere.

There’d been a time when he hated Svetlana with such intensity it almost gave him a stomachache. He would see her face, the way her dark eyes darted around to take in every detail of her surroundings, and fight the urge to physically attack her. At the time, it hadn’t scared him because nothing had scared him. During the high of mania, he’d felt untouchable. Sometimes he missed that fearlessness nearly as intensely as he used to hate Mickey’s wife, because he definitely didn’t feel untouchable now.

He recognized now that the onset of his disease had probably contributed to his hatred of Svetlana, or at least his desire for violence. Now his feelings toward her were a more measured resentment, of what she made Ian remember and what she represented.

Yev slapped a small hand on Ian’s chest, pulling him from his thoughts. He resumed the bouncing.

“1, 2, 3, spaceship!” Ian said, bouncing Yev higher on each number until launching him up high on “spaceship” with enthusiasm. Yev went wild for this game and Ian knew the baby could easily play it for the rest of the night, or until Ian’s arms gave out, whichever came first.

They were approaching the twenty minute mark with 1-2-3-spaceship! when Svetlana returned, two bowls balanced in her hands and a banana clasped under her elbow. She set one bowl on the table and offered the other to Ian, who took it warily. She sat beside him and Ian just watched her, wondering if this was it, if she was finally going to poison him now. He glanced at the bowl in his hand (it was filled with shredded vegetables and smelled like garlic and dill and fucking heaven, since Mickey and Ian were both shit in the kitchen and had been living on pizza bagels and Taco Bell for weeks to the point that Ian swore this soup smelled like the best thing in the world), then back up at Svetlana.

“Is rude, letting guest sit without offering food,” Svetlana said, sounding defensive. She began peeling the banana and ripped a junk off for the baby. Yev sucked on the banana contently. 

“Well, I’m not really a guest,” Ian replied, almost challenging her to disagree.

She smirked at him, and he thought not for the first time that Svetlana almost seemed to have a sense of humor sometimes. “I can take back soup then, if you do not want.”

As she reached for the bowl, Ian leaned back, shielding it from her grasp. Whatever it was, he was confident it would be fucking delicious. “Let’s not be hasty, now,” he said, shifting Yev in his lap so he could hold the bowl and grasp the spoon resting on the edge. He blew on a mouthful before sticking it in his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Ian said, speaking around his mouthful of soup. 

Svetlana arched an eyebrow. “Too hot? Is too hot.”

“No, it’s not too hot, it’s just good as hell!” Ian exclaimed, trying to play it cool but goddamn it was the best soup he’d ever had in his life. He took another bite, and another, burning the roof of his mouth because he didn’t take the time to blow on it.

Settling into the couch beside him, Svetlana took Yev into her arms and smiled as she began on her own bowl, looking a little smug. Yev finished gumming his piece of banana and she handed him another.

It was awkward, eating delicious soup made by Mickey’s fake-wife as she watched him eat with obvious satisfaction, but not unbearably so. To compensate, Ian kept his eyes on Yev, who was patting Svetlana’s knee steadily and yelling, “Bah! Bah! Bah!” with every pat. Svetlana followed his gaze, and they watched the baby for a while.

“I think his teeth come in,” Svetlana said after a while.

“Yeah?” Ian said, trying to swallow so he wasn’t completely talking with his mouth full. It was easy to fall into the safety net of their one common interest: Yevgeny. “He hasn’t seemed too cranky.”

Svetlana eased a finger gently into Yev’s mouth, opening it so Ian could just spy a white nub poking out of the back of his gums. “I almost did not see either.”

Ian raised his eyebrows. “Wow, he’s a tough little guy. Liam was a pain in the ass for months when his teeth started coming in.”

“It’s the Russian,” Svetlana said proudly. “We do not cry unless there is something to cry for.”

Ian resisted rolling his eyes at the obvious cultural vanity and decided to just let her have that one, and spoke to Yev instead.

“Are you a tough little Russian soldier?” Ian said, tickling the baby’s chubby belly with the knuckle of a finger. “Yes you are, all stoic and brave, look at you.” The baby was giggling and Svetlana was watching in amusement. 

His giggling receded and then Yev was just watching Ian with those wide, bright blue eyes that made him seem older than just an infant. “Man, those eyes are crazy,” he murmured.

“His father’s,” Svetlana said. She sounded conflicted, and resigned, and Ian looked up at her. “He looks just like piece of shit father.”

Ian glanced back at Yev, then up at Svetlana, then back at Yev. He cocked his head, considering. Yev had Mickey’s blue eyes, but he’d never seen that wide-open, absorbed expression on Mickey’s face before. He looked up to study Svetlana again. He didn’t really see it on her face either, but then, he didn’t really know her. They’d been living together for months now and she was still like a stranger, Ian realized.

“Does anyone in your family do that?” he asked, gesturing at Yev’s face, still focused on Ian with laser-like intensity. “That staring thing he does?”

Svetlana turned her baby a little to see, but Yev just moved his neck at the motion to keep his eyes on Ian. Ian bobbed side to side a little, Yev turning his head to follow Ian as he moved, making Ian laugh. He raised an eyebrow at Svetlana.

She frowned. “My sister.” She swallowed, resettling Yev on her lap. “My sister looks like that sometimes.” And she went silent, looking so sad that Ian forgot about the soup in his lap, watching her with concern.

One thing Ian was working on since he’d gone on medication was trying to regain his old self as much as he could. He missed his empathy most of all, and it was becoming one of the hardest qualities to relearn.

In the euphoric grips of mania, or the deadening weight of depression, he could barely see beyond his own nose. He didn’t remember thinking about anyone outside of what they meant to him. He thought of pressuring Mickey to come out, because Ian wanted him to. He thought of going home with countless strangers after work, because Ian wanted the taste of free drugs on his tongue. He thought of finally coming home after months away not because he was worried about his siblings, but because Ian wanted to get some of his old clothes without having to do laundry.

Before, when he was younger, it had been easy to put himself in someone else’s shoes. Growing up, he’d found it easy to understand what made people tick, why Fiona was bossy or Lip was a unrepentant smartass or eventually why Mickey was defensive and often violent. Knowing why people were the way they were didn’t make them less annoying sometimes, but it made it easy for Ian to understand them.

He was ashamed that he had so easily lost that part of himself.

Now, like he was learning to reuse a muscle that had gone weak, he stretched his mind to try and imagine what it was like to be Svetlana. She was only eighteen. He wondered when she’d started working as a hooker. He remembered a vague story Mickey had told about her father selling her to a brothel for ten or twenty bucks. Her English was good, almost idiomatic, and he wondered when she’d learned it, if she had a knack for languages or simply studied hard until it came easily. He thought about her living in the Milkovich house, at the virtual whim of a husband more or less indifferent to her, responsible not only for herself but a baby too. He wondered if she regretted answering Terry’s phone call nearly a year ago, if she felt guilt for what she’d done and continued to do by remaining a part of Mickey’s life.

“You are dripping on sofa.” Svetlana’s pointed words drew Ian back. She grabbed his bowl and set it on the table, giving him an odd look. She had nearly finished her own soup by then.

Ian blinked, feeling like he was coming up from underwater. He forgot what it was like to let someone else’s emotions wash over you like that. It made you feel numb for a second, coming back from it.

“Sorry,” he said. “Drifted there for a second.” He held on to Yev’s foot, letting the warm, soft weight ground him to the sofa. “I’ll get out of your hair now, I can go to Fiona’s house until Mickey’s off work.” He moved to stand, but Svetlana snorted, rolling her eyes at his half-assed attempt to…whatever he was trying to do, respect her space? Try not to force his presence on her any more than necessary? He wasn’t sure why he felt the urge to leave.

“Hold baby while I shower,” she said, plopping Yev in his lap. “Eat more soup. You are pale, and looks bad with your hair.”

She surprised a laugh out of him. “Well, can’t have that. I’d be nothing without my looks,” he said breezily.

She surprised him again by cuffing him on the side of the head. “Don’t,” she said with a warning tone in her voice. He looked at her, his eyes gone wide as Yevgeny’s. He wanted to ask her why she’d hit him, why she didn’t like him joking about his worth (because he wasn’t stupid, he was crazy but he wasn’t dumb and he knew that his even-featured face, his bright hair, his muscled build, his non-threatening expression, his easy smile, his deep-throating ability, his stamina in bed, his young, supple body, they all composed the entirety of his appeal to a lot of people in his life, nearly all of the men he’d ever been involved with, and not even the protectiveness of a grouchy Russian stranger was enough to disavow him of this bitter, unpleasant knowledge), but she seemed uncomfortable in the moment and turned abruptly to go take a shower.

Ian watched her go before turning down to Yevgeny again. Yev was staring up at him. “Mickey’s right, you are a little creep,” Ian told the baby, who made a few babbling sounds back at him.

He did get himself another bowl of the delicious soup, and then ate at least another half a bowl-full standing in front of the pot with a spoon in one hand and Yevgeny on his other hip, and then washed both bowls and set them to dry. He poured the remaining soup into another bowl and stuck it in the fridge for Mickey, and was nearly finished washing the soup pot when Svetlana reemerged. She smirked at him doing the dishes.

“Look at Orange Boy, doing housework like good wife,” she said. Usually he found her attitude tiring, but this time Ian made himself roll with it. She’d made him soup, after all.

“Gotta keep my man happy,” he said, smirking back. She rubbed a hand down Yevgeny’s back as she and Ian shared a challenging, but not unpleasant, look.

He was reminded of a murky memory of Svetlana, one he hadn’t thought about in weeks, floating up in the pool of his mind. It had been the second week of that first brutal depressive episode. He’d finally felt himself begin to emerge from the dank, deep waters of the past few weeks, and he dragged himself to the sofa, feeling Mickey and Mandy’s eyes watching him with trepidation so loud it fairly rang in his ears.

After collapsing on the couch, he looked around the living room dully. It felt like everything was covered in a film. Mickey had sat carefully beside him, Mandy hovering nervously behind the couch, and Ian had thought with a flicker of feeble irritation that he wished everyone would just fucking be normal for a goddamn second.

As the thought had left his mind, a soft but sturdy weight had been dropped in his lap, the unexpected pressure making him feel like he’d been kicked in the balls, but gently.

He winced, and standing above him had been Svetlana regarding him coolly, pointing at Yev in his lap. “Watch baby. Piece of shit husband need to come to bar, do his job for once in fucking life.”

Mickey had protested immediately, going to pick up Yev to shove him back at Svetlana. “Lay off him, he just got up.”

Svetlana had been unmoved. “He cannot be useless in this house,” she’d said. In the fog of depression, what Ian had heard was: he is not useless. He could never be sure if that’s what she’d meant, but that’s what he heard and he shook off Mickey’s hand on his arm.

“I can do it,” he said, marveling at the unfamiliar sound of his own voice. Mickey had been reluctant, but Mandy had offered to stick around, and as much as Ian didn’t want a babysitter he’d been too tired to protest. So Mickey had gone to the bar with Svetlana while Ian stayed at home, cradling Yev in his lap as Mandy watched TV beside him. And when Svetlana and Mickey had returned hours later, Ian had already put Yev to bed and showered for the first time in weeks. 

Two days later, he let Mickey take him to the clinic for the first time.

Remembering that now, Ian couldn’t help but reach out and give Svetlana an affectionate shove on the shoulder before he realized what he was doing. They were both surprised at the gesture, and Ian waited for Svetlana to lose her temper. But instead she rolled her eyes again before kissing her son on the head. 

“Baby in bed by seven,” she said, heading toward the door.

Ian saluted. “You got it, boss,” he called out after her as she left.

He read Yev a book and let him fall asleep on his chest in bed for a bit, holding out before getting up to put him in his crib. He liked the feeling of the baby lying on top of him, and only blushed a little when Mickey came home and discovered them cuddled in bed together.

“Why are you watching him? I thought Svetlana got Mandy to do it,” Mickey said, falling on the bed beside Ian and jostling Yev.

“Jesus, take it easy,” Ian said, going still as he waited to see if Yev would wake up. The baby slumbered on, and he let out a relieved breath. “I think Mandy wasn’t here, so Svetlana asked me to watch him.”

“Tell that bitch you’re not the fucking nanny,” Mickey said, lining up so he and Ian lay side-by-side and resting a hand on Ian’s knee.

“Don’t call her that,” Ian said, the words leaving his mouth reflexively.

“Fuck you, I’ll call my fucking wife what I fucking want,” Mickey shot back, predictably quick to anger, even as he kept his voice low, eyes on Yev’s sleeping face.

Ian carefully sat up, cradling the baby so he stayed relatively level. “It’s just…It’s a bad habit to get into,” Ian said finally. “Yev’s going to understand what you’re saying, soon.”

It wasn’t really what Ian was thinking, but he was hedging. He couldn’t really articulate why he’d suddenly jumped to Svetlana’s defense after months of calling her a bitch in his own head more than Mickey called her it out loud.

“Fucking whatever,” Mickey said dismissively. He stood and followed as Ian left the room to put the baby in the crib in Svetlana’s room though. Ian went into the kitchen and Mickey followed him there too, standing close to Ian’s side and holding his elbow.

Mickey had become kind of a hovercraft lately, keeping close to Ian no matter where he went. Sometimes it was suffocating, sometimes it wasn’t. It wasn’t so bad right now, Ian thought, bending to press a kiss to Mickey’s forehead and marveling at how the shorter boy let him, the intimacy more of a surprise than anything after all this time.

“Anything to eat?” Mickey asked.

Ian went to the fridge. “There’s soup,” he said, pulling out the bowl to pop it in the microwave. He turned to Mickey with a grin. “And it’s fucking delicious.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the kudos and the comments, gang. As always, you dudes are the best!


End file.
